Hellbent
by Elven Heart993
Summary: Three-shot. Haymitch's life before, during and after the 50th Hunger Games. Haymitch's eyelids flickered closed again, his heart beating almost painfully loud. His name was in there so many times now…please…please not him. "Haymitch Abernathy!" Rating may go up to M for violence in Part 2.
1. Chapter 1

**Hellbent Part One**

Haymitch Abernathy was nine years old when he first understood. When he understood why he was watching his mother waste away faster than he himself was, faster than five year old Aiden…and why his father seemed to maintain a constant weight. When he first understood why his mother looked so sad, why there were always purple bruises around her eyes and why they could barely afford half a loaf of stale bread at the best of times.

Lint Abernathy was a coalminer, like many men in District 12 were, tall in stature with a mess of black hair that fell shaggy around his cheekbones. He was hardly known in the Seam, but almost everyone fell under the radar, save for the Mayor. He had green eyes, that neither of his sons had inherited, but his younger, if he lived past ten, would inevitably grow to look like his father. Haymitch hated that.  
Their home was small and never very clean, but it was home. His father never came home until very late, far later than people ordinarily did. It didn't take a genius to realise that something was wrong, but Haymitch was only nine…he just stayed with Aiden in their small room and listened to the muffled shouting and crashing, pretending it didn't exist. Until of course, the first night he left the room unable to sleep. It was only a few weeks before the next Reaping and every year Haymitch drew closer to having his name in the mix, to having the vibrantly coloured Capitol escorts call out him to be a Tribute.

His father was drooling, sprawled over the table when the boy came in, too curious for his own good oftentimes. There was a horrible smell that he didn't recognise, strong, a mix of vomit and something else that assaulted the boy's sense of smell and made his blue-grey eyes water, it was all emanating from his father…  
When had been the last time he'd brought food home? Never, never did he bring home more than a few measly coins that the family was forced to live on, and the odd rat or squirrel somebody managed to catch. Once a rabbit had hopped right into the kitchen, like it wanted to be cooked…it had been the last time Haymitch and Aiden had genuinely felt full. Surely coalminers earned a little more than that measly sum…

"Dad…" He whispered, screwing up his nose at the almost painful smell and edging closer. If it were not for the occasional snore or twitch, his father could easily have died silently.

He would both regret and thank himself for what he was about to do, if he hadn't, maybe they could have gone on in blissful ignorance for a little longer…but the moment the young boy put a hand on his father's shoulder…the side of his head met the corner of the table.

xxxXxxx

From that moment on, Haymitch was terrified of his father. He couldn't look at him, just try to hide the bruise from his mother who inevitably found it…and seemed to know immediately what had happened to her son. Despite the profuse apologies, it was hard to believe they were genuine when every night yelling would start again along with threats that Haymitch couldn't tune out anymore.  
He knew where the remainder of their little money went now. All that his father cared about was drowning himself in liquor he bought from the Hob, coming home and then the shouting and shrieking would start again.

It was another year, before Lint dropped the charade of his double life like hot coals. No more was the drinking restricted to night, no longer did he bother trying to care for his children and his wife, no longer did he restrain himself and no longer did he apologise.

But the day, the day he struck his six year old across the face, was the day Haymitch decided he sincerely despised the man.  
He'd only tried to help his mother, Aiden and Haymitch huddled around the corner, the younger brother crying and whimpering softly, listening to the bellowing of the beast in the next room, the frightened pleas of their poor, frail mother to just think of the children…  
Aiden had run, before Haymitch could grab him, run in screaming at their father to stop it, to leave her be. In the drunken rage, Lint Abernathy, Haymitch couldn't call him 'father' anymore, turned and backhanded the six year old across the face.

xxxXxxx

It was the year of his first Reaping, he had just turned twelve, when everything became worse. It was public knowledge now that the tall coalminer, Abernathy, was a drunk. A violent drunk. It wasn't easy to hide the bruises now, until a year ago, Lint had at least tried to hold himself back from attacking his sons. But rarely were Haymitch and his mother to be seen without bruises either brought on by themselves, or trying to protect Aiden. There was no way that his little brother was being hurt so badly, and thankfully, the eight year wasn't half as hurt as the ones who loved him.

His mother's face, Aiden's face, when Haymitch stepped up to have his finger pricked, when he stepped in with the other boys from District 12 and awaited the inevitable draw…he'd only been in there once, it was his first time…and he wasn't picked.

Lint's face was quite different. It was clear what he thought. He wanted his own son in those Games…he wanted the riches, food and warmth that came with the winner's victory and included the family. Haymitch knew this for a fact. He'd been told it, had it screamed at him when he wasn't picked.

"You could be useful, boy! Volunteer!"

The rage that boiled in Haymitch was nearly indescribable. What kind of parent wanted their child in that competition? District 12 had only won once, and the man wasn't really sane anymore. But it wasn't that that bothered him so much as the sheer hypocrisy…useful? His father was the useless one, spending what little they had on liquor and spirits, leaving his family to starve and beating them.

"You're the useless one! Don't you tell m-" The back of a large hand struck his jaw, and Haymitch was on his knees. The beast of a man towering over him, a drunken haze over his animalistic eyes and fist raised threateningly a second time.

"Lint, leave him! That's your son!"

"Shut it! Can't even be useful when he'd old enough…"

Haymitch ran. He pretended not to hear the stream of cursing and his mother's cries, and ran out of the house into the particularly cold evening.

He would be in much more trouble coming back, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel the left side of his jaw but for a constant throbbing. That man, the bear of a man, probably drunk off his head and raging out the door after him, was not his father. He'd never acknowledge it again.

The boy didn't go far, he was too afraid of what his mother and Aiden would suffer to go too far away. He dropped between two crates, both coated with a layer of black coal dust, and pressed his hand to his face, trying to hide the bruise he was certain was already forming.

He'd never wished more for his…for that man to just disappear, to go….it was sure to devastate his mother…but how could she love such a horrible beast? Haymitch just wanted him far away where he wouldn't hurt them anymore…where he couldn't make them all suffer because of his drunkenness.

When he came home that night, covered in soot and dirt, he was granted a black eye to compliment the bruise on his jaw.

xxxXxxx

When he was thirteen, Haymitch got his wish.

Lint ran out, swearing foully at his wife and children that they were pathetic, it wasn't good enough for him, that his own children were a disgrace to him and his wife was too weak. He just left.

His mother was too frail, too weak to be able to provide for her boys, and the responsibility fell on Haymitch to take care of them. He was hardened…an adult in a boy's body and the scars of the more severe abusive treatment weren't going to leave for a long time. He was fit, as fit as a malnourished, thirteen year old boy could be in the Seam, and that proved his greatest asset.

They relied largely on the work Haymitch secured as an apprentice to the blacksmith. Physically very demanding for a young boy, working with hammers and hot fires through the best part of the day and left him more soot covered and filthy than usual. But they were better off without his father. At least the income Haymitch made wasn't being wasted. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the three of them to live on.

He didn't have many friends, Haymitch. He knew a few boys and girls his own age, but never spent time with them, there wasn't time to spend, but for the few hours he let himself get away after he was sent home, and had eaten.  
These hours he largely spent by himself, idly kicking rocks or leaning against the side of a house, glaring at the stray dog or two that roamed in desperate search for food. The animals were every bit as thin, if not thinner than the people of the Seam. Their thin, mangy grey fur hung off in clumps and their bones stuck out visibly. Things would get better one day.

xxxXxxx

He met his girlfriend two years later, when he was fifteen. Just a few days preceding his fourth Reaping, fighting away the wetness in his eyes and forcing himself to swallow the pain as he dropped the red hot tongs into a pail of water, letting them hiss the heat away. Immediately he drew his hand back, cradling the burnt skin to his stomach.

The blacksmith, a tall, balding man with a thick black beard, caught Haymitch's sharp gasp, glancing over his large shoulder in concern. He was a good man, and many people liked him, on the days before the Reaping he always slipped his apprentice a few extra coins in case the boy should be chosen as that year's Tribute.

"Go home, boy…that's a nasty burn."

Haymitch stared at him, his dark hair falling into his eyes. The man hadn't even looked properly, if at all. Was he just trying to get rid of him? Or just cutting him a little slack now, before….yes that must be it.

"But I haven't fin-"

"You might need both your hands in as good condition as they can be, son."  
There was a hint of something in the blacksmith's voice, sadness? Haymitch knew he and his wife had no children of their own, and he'd known Haymitch a good deal more than the other children in District 12, being the youngest apprentice he'd taken at just thirteen years old.

He met Sienna Harford that day.

He didn't go home right away, a cold, dirty cloth over the burn on his thumb he walked in the opposite direction, toward the electrified boundary fence. There was a girl there, just standing there staring at the fence, her dark hair flickering slightly in the breeze. As Haymitch walked closer he could see that she seemed to be analysing the fence, her eyes squinting in concentration, and he realised he knew her. Well, not her name, but he had seen her a lot.

"What're you doin'?"

The girl jumped, apparently she hadn't noticed him, but a glint of recognition in her blue eyes and she relaxed.

"It's not electrified today. You can't hear anything."

So? That meant nothing to Haymitch, he just shrugged and stepped around her to drop down on the stump of an old tree, rubbing his hand and staring without looking toward the forest on the other side.

"You haven't had any bruises for a long time, have you?"

"Sorry?"

Haymitch tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as the girl turned around, one brow arched curiously. She definitely seemed to know him, it was a slightly invasive question…

"Years I mean, you are who I think you are right? Work for the blacksmith?"

Haymitch glanced down at himself, sure his face at least was more black than tanned, smudged and flushed from the heat of the fires and blackened from the oily tools.

"…Yeah?"

"Well then…" He looked up, she had drawn closer and was now just a few paces in front of him, blocking out the heat from the afternoon sun, hands on her hips. "You're definitely the boy with the bruises."

He scoffed. Not the best thing to be known as, but his father was long gone, could be dead for all Haymitch cared. Except that he knew otherwise, he'd caught a glimpse of the man in the Hob not long ago. Buying liquor.

"I do prefer Haymitch."

Her name was Sienna Harford, he learned, she was fifteen and had a younger sister two years older than Aiden and an older brother who was nineteen this year and just out of danger of being Reaped. He liked her, he'd call her a friend.

xxxXxxx

This year was a Quarter Quell….the 50th anniversary of the beginning of the Hunger Games….it was a "celebrated" event, and different to the usual Games. The first Quell, 25 years ago, had apparently entailed the districts voting in their Tributes. No random draw. Popular vote.

Would it be the same again this year? Everyone in the District sincerely hoped not…

Haymitch had taken tessera from the Peacekeepers each year since he was twelve, and he hadn't told a soul. If his mother knew he'd willingly put his name in that round glass bowl more than was necessary…she'd be devastated.

Now, dressed and pressed into the cleanest and nicest clothes they had, the children made the yearly walk to the Reaping, siblings sticking tightly close, lining to have their fingers pricked. This year, Haymitch was sixteen, and Aiden was twelve…it was his first Reaping.

He'd been seeing Sienna near a year now, and here they were, her hand in his, her grip nearly enough to cut off circulation in his fingers. The odds really weren't that high that either of them would be chosen, there were definitely other boys he knew for certain had taken tessera, and he knew that Sienna hadn't done so at all. Or so she told him.

With a last look over her shoulder, like a silent goodbye Haymitch thought, she smiled sadly. A gesture he returned, keeping his younger brother right beside him as the girls separated.

It was all a blur, the blood ever pounding in Haymitch's ears as the Mayor, and the officials, the Capitol escort, all filed onto the stage. The speech was different, slightly, reminding them of the Quarter Quell, and commemorating the 50th Annual Hunger Games.

"You'll be fine, buddy." He heard someone mutter to who was presumably his younger brother. There were quite a few twelve year olds this year…instinctively, Haymitch's hand flew to Aiden's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"…a little different to usual…."

Oh here it was…the vibrantly coloured woman on stage was about to tell them what was happening for this Quell…

"This year, not two….but four lucky young men and women will be chosen for the honour of representing District 12, isn't that exciting?"

All at once, the dead silence broke into a rush of whisper, and cries of protest. Mothers and fathers at the back let out shocked cries. Four? Two of each….the odds just doubled…and even if that didn't mean much in the big picture, it was a substantial increase for those who had their names in a lot of times.

"Haymitch…"

He snapped his head down, his mouth hanging open in shock to meet the very wide and panicked eyes of his brother.  
"I know. I know, you'll be fine…" He swore inwardly for the tremble in his voice, thoroughly wishing he was as confident as he fancied himself to be.  
Cutting his gaze through the crowd and past a fourteen year old to the girls' side, he sought Sienna's face. There she was, clutching her sister's hand fiercely, closing her eyes and probably fighting back tears.

"Now, now! Let's get to it then, and find these honourable Tributes!"

Silence fell again, if possible, more cutting than before. The tap-tap of pointed, fifty million inch heels pierced the tension like a knife did a pig. Ladies first….two girls….

"Maysilee Donner!"

A girl, blonde and one half of twin sisters, probably fifteen or sixteen and shaking stepped forward. All eyes on her as the Peacekeepers, painfully white, stepped around her to escort her. The inevitable scream came from her sister, reaching out for her desperately. Haymitch couldn't look at her, he kept his eyes on the new tribute who was obviously trying to force down as much emotion as she could, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her.

"Kayte Chester!"

Thirteen, that one couldn't be older than thirteen. Dark haired and terribly pale…she only made it three steps before turning and making a run toward the back. A moment later, two Peacekeepers had her by the elbows, and nearly dragging her to the stage.

Before long it was the boys turn, everyone was quiet again, save for the sniffles that were picked up by the microphone from Kayte and the whimpering of parents at the back. Haymitch's hand tightened on his brother shoulder, only realising it when Aiden winced and wriggled under his protective hold.

Someone beside him was muttering under his breath, praying probably, his eyes had closed, and Haymitch's fluttered closed too, waiting for the name he was almost certain would be 'Aiden Abernathy' when the paper was plucked out with the air of hailing a victor.

"Fin Adersee!"

Not Aiden? Not himself? Haymitch breathed out, allowing himself a small, reassuring smile at Aiden who looked twice as relieved. But there was still one more name to come as the tall boy with dusty red hair stepped forward to the stage. Each step resonating in the silence, breaths held, waiting…

"The fourth Tribute for District 12, is….."

Haymitch's eyelids flickered closed again, his heart beating almost painfully loud. His name was in there so many times now…please…please not him.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"


	2. Chapter 2

******Rating has gone up to M for violence, it****'s not that graphic but **I wasn't sure whether or not I could get away with a T, so this is just in case.  


**Hellbent**

**Part Two**

The hours that followed were the fastest and blurriest that Haymitch remembered about the beginnings of the ordeal. The tears…the agonising cries of his mother…it was almost too much for the sixteen year old. What would happen to her while he was gone? Because he probably wouldn't be coming back…there would be forty-eight of them in that arena. How long would she and Aiden last without him?

No, that was the wrong thinking. He had to at least come off confident, to be strong for them now. His family needed something to believe in and it had to be him.

Haymitch remembered clutching his little brother's shoulders, embracing him protectively once more and pulling back again.

"Take care of Mum, buddy, you gotta be strong."

"I-I can't…come home…please, you have to!"

"I will…" The Peacekeepers came back to collect him, to pull the brothers apart, ushering the twelve year old from the room. "I'll see you soon, Aiden!"

Sienna was a mess, her eyes red and inflamed from trying to hold back tears, the little resolve she had left crumbling away when Haymitch held her.  
He told her he loved her, that she'd be alright and not to watch the Games. He was quite sure he'd be more than capable of killing and he'd certainly do it, but he didn't need his girlfriend to see that. He kissed her one more time and then she was gone.

His father never came to say goodbye. Haymitch knew he'd been there, he had seen him at the back of the crowd with the adults, but he never came to say goodbye. Good thing too.

xxxXxxx

The train was most certainly the most luxurious thing any of the teenagers had seen, a mere shadow of the grandeur of the Capitol itself. Chocolates, fruit, bread, drinks all ready and set out for them appealingly. Haymitch could feel his fingers itching for the food, and someone's stomach growled loudly. It was the Kayte girl, blushing pink immediately.

It had taken all of five minutes for their resolve to crumble, the temptation to try all these rich things they'd never had the luxury of trying became too much. Before he had realised it, Haymitch had sampled his first chocolate.  
It was perhaps rather petty, but for a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the altogether pleasant taste that was dancing on his tongue. He wasn't the only one, Fin too had tried the chocolates, and his brown eyes lit up considerably. He must have been about seventeen, he was older than Haymitch for sure.

Barely a word that wasn't necessary was spoken out of the lot of them in the whole ride to the Capitol, and everything between, Haymitch erased from his memory.

xxxXxxx

The Capitol left them no privacy. He was stripped, eyed up and down, literally hosed down and scrubbed until at least three layers of dust and soot stained skin had been taken off.

Every hair on his body, legs, arms, chest, was torn away with strips of fabric. Not exactly a pleasant sensation and more than once Haymitch had to clamp down on his lip to keep from shouting and pulling away. Eyebrows were plucked, and if even one eyelash wasn't symmetrical to the others, it was pulled out. They had to look perfect, like a flawless, Capitol doll…no…like the citizens of the Capitol themselves.

He wasn't completely unfortunate looking, he'd been told that right from the start of the two hours of slow torture. Apparently he looked quite attractive with some preening and plucking. Ha. Wouldn't Sienna be pleased.

If Haymitch had allowed his tongue to get the better of him, and wriggle its way free of his teeth, his prep team would have been appalled at the language that would have escaped. But he had fought down the urge to run off and swear, standing naked and exposed as the disgustingly garbed Capitolians stepped back.

As if the prepping wasn't bad enough, the exposure, the lack of any sort of privacy as his stylist looked him over and the clothing he was forced into was worse…he would sooner go naked.

Four of them, the four from District Twelve, were to wear coal mining outfits. Overalls, boots, lighted helmets, and Haymitch had been given a pick.

Both girls had it the worst, their outfits were rather shockingly skimpy, the most modest part being the lighted hats they wore. Their skin was darkened with soot, emphasising that they wore no shirt beneath the overalls.

There were two chariots for each district now, one boy and girl in each. Being Twelve, they would be at the back, Fin and Kayte in one, Haymitch and Maysilee in the other. It was stressful, the first night was all about first impressions, gaining the attention of sponsors. So with a plastered on smile, and a false confidence he sincerely wished was genuine, Haymitch stood tall, one hand half raised to the spectators.

The first time Haymitch saw himself was on a large screen…and it was exactly as he feared. Side by side with Maysilee who looked surprisingly collected considering her attire, the hand at his side clenched into a fist, newly filed nails threatening to split his skin. Save for his hair, curly not limp and straight, he looked like his father.

xxxXxxx

It was alarming the level of skill the Career Tributes had…there were eight of them now. Girls that knew twenty different ways to kill you before you left your seat, boys that could easily take a head off with a knife without exerting much effort. All eight had the same hungry glint in their eyes in the training, hungry for blood, and for glory.

The first time Haymitch picked up a sword, was an occasion that he would not forget. It had been such a miserable attempt. He had privately assured himself he could do it and must have looked fairly confident, several years of swinging hammers must have thought him something. Humiliatingly he'd barely managed to swing it, let alone remember to keep a hold on the hilt; the weapon had flown out of his hand and skittered a few yards along the floor, much to the immense amusement of other Tributes and particularly the eight Careers. District 12 was never regarded as a threat, and this year would be no exception, Haymitch wanted more than anything to prove otherwise.

He'd found some skill in the knives there, it came instinctively. Feeling the taunting, analysing eyes of Tributes on his back, weighing up and scoffing at their competition, had stirred something in his gut and for the briefest of moments as he threw the knife he imagined the dummy before him to be the man who gave him the scar behind his right ear. The anger had been enough to send the knife into the inanimate chest.

The scar had come when he was thirteen, just before Lint had run out, after that year's Reaping. Drunk and unjustly furious with Haymitch for not being that year's male Tribute, he had roared and shouted, Haymitch steely facing off, Aiden and their mother out of the room. The bottle had smashed beside the boy's covered head, shattering against the wall, a long piece of glass cutting into the skin behind Haymitch's ear.

xxxXxxx

He wasn't weak by any means, and he showed it. He would be the very last Tribute to face the Gamemakers, to show his skills, try and garner himself a few sponsors, which wasn't that likely at all. One by one the other Tributes went ahead of him. Maysilee, Fin, Kayte and finally, himself.

"Haymitch Abernathy."  
He had used the knife, as he'd been advised, throwing and cutting at the dummies as best he could, his fingers trembling, missing embarrassingly by a wide margin, but he wasn't finished. He could make fires quickly and securely, knew how to make them with minimal smoke and minimal risk of giving him away, and he did so. Whether the Gamemakers watched or not he wasn't entirely sure.

Until he was given a score of nine out of twelve.

Haymitch had done something right. Young Kayte, three years younger than him, had only managed a five, Maysilee an eight and Fin a nine as well.

There wasn't a day that passed that his family didn't cross his mind, how his mother was, how Aiden was dealing without his brother to help him, and how Sienna was controlling herself. She was strong, she would be fine. He couldn't afford to think like this, couldn't afford to let them influence his mind, he just needed to focus on one thing: Staying alive.

The interviews with Caesar Flickerman took twice as long as usual, leaving Tributes waiting in a line, dressed to the nines by their stylists and resisting the urge to take weight off their feet and lean against the wall. They were certainly the nicest clothes Haymitch had worn and possibly ever would wear, a dark suit, the shirt a pale powder blue and a few curls hanging in his eyes he didn't bother to brush away.

Flickerman. This man actually was the epitome of all things Capitol. From his twinkling suit to his plastic-like features, to the deep green hair and lips…that was to say nothing of the permanent smile on his face, like he was trying to be friends with the Tributes.

Haymitch simply nodded along, leaning forward in his seat, elbow propped on his knees, pretending to be listening. He had to make people like him…pity he wasn't overly good at that.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred per cent more competitors than usual?"

It was the most straightforward, easy to answer question that Haymitch had been asked since his arrival in the Capitol. He would answer completely honestly, leaning back slightly and shrugging.  
"I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred per cent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

It was total honesty, and the audience and Caesar apparently found that amusing, very amusing. Alright…he could oblige…flicking his grey eyes out toward the audience he flashed them a half smile, bordering an indifferent smirk.

xxxXxxx

The morning they went up in the tubes, entering the arena, was perhaps one of the strangest of Haymitch's life. He felt nothing, his face wiped clear of any real emotion, his eyebrows knitted together into a deep scowl of concentration. But the moment the bright light subsided, and his eyes cleared of their temporary blindness, his jaw dropped slightly, and he blinked for a moment.

It certainly seemed pleasant. A lush, green meadow greeted the Tributes, bright patches of flowers throughout it, the Cornucopia of supplies right in the centre. Haymitch had already decided he would run. He was fast, he knew he could outrun others.  
Generally around half the Tributes died in the initial bloodbath every year, and there were those more sensible ones that just ran away to find a camp.

Not Haymitch, he wouldn't run away. The moment the gong sounded, he snapped off his pedestal, not failing to note the disoriented expression on most of the other forty-seven Tributes. Luck had been on his side, the sixteen year old managed to steal himself a backpack and an assortment of weapons and was sprinting off toward the forest within a matter of seconds.

He would have no terrible issues with killing. It had to be done, he needed to keep himself alive. Haymitch needed to win this thing.

He didn't bother counting how many died in the bloodbath and spent the night in a tree, wisely. Simply watched the faces flash over the artificial sky, Kayte's was one of them. So the other two from his District were still alive.

It was all too clear all too soon that this beautiful arena was incredibly deadly. Haymitch's wake up in the morning assured him of that. A golden squirrel was perched on the branch above him as he woke, blinking its black eyes down at him quizzically.

Without thinking why it would come so close, Haymitch involuntarily flicked his tongue over his lips, he needed to find water…but that would do for food if he needed it soon. The knife had taken up residence at his side and slowly he withdrew it, scooting up to stand precariously on the branch, flat against the trunk, backpack balanced at his feet.

Without warning, even before he could raise his knife, the furry creature leapt, directly at Haymitch, sharp teeth bared and he barely ducked in time. It wasn't alone, four more darted their way around the trunk, catching the Tribute off guard, causing him to lose his footing, falling from a fair height, one squirrel on his arm, its needle like teeth sinking into his flesh.

Haymitch shouted in pain, landing on his ankle and barely grabbing his bag from the carnivorous creatures and trying desperately to shake them off, they were quick, and could easily tear a piece of flesh right off if they were not defended against quickly.

That same day, he found that even the butterflies were venomous. In a particularly close encounter with one of the males from District Seven, in a tussle that nearly lost Haymitch his fingers, a swarm of the unusually bright insects had attacked, and neither boy escaped unscathed. They stung, and Haymitch watched the other boy writhe and scream on the ground, heard the cannon that fired not long after. For the next few hours, it was all he could do to numb the agony raging through his stomach, and pray he didn't die.

For the first four days, he kept himself alive, and then the next days, following the eruption of the volcano that killed Fin along with eleven others, were spent in hiding, desperately avoiding any of the remaining Tributes forced to confine themselves to the woods.

Haymitch had killed his first human being on the fifth day, and he wasn't proud of it. His life hadn't even really depended on it, it would have been just as easy to avoid the girl as it had been to cut her throat. But knowing that every surviving Tribute was a threat to his own survival, he killed her.

Another two days saw him back in the centre of the forest, the arena was a maze of trees and hedges that steered its victims back where the Gamemakers wanted them. Haymitch spent a few hours trying to forget his hunger and thirst, huddled amongst bushes, steering clear of the trees. Even the water in the streams here was poisonous, he'd watched other Tributes die there and learned from their mistakes. Thankfully, in the backpack had been a flask of uncontaminated water, but that had gone a day ago.

It was on the sixth day Haymitch encountered three of the four male Careers and came the closest to death that he'd come so far. It was genuinely simply bad timing, he'd walked out from behind one tree into a clearing the moment they did the same on the opposite side.

All three were much bigger and stronger than Haymitch was and for a moment the four of them just stood, three against one, staring the opponent down. Knife in hand, and eyeing the bag one of them carried, the younger boy narrowed his eyes and sized them up, watching for any injuries or weak points. One had a sword, another a knife and the third carried an axe. All three had the same arrogant, demeaning expressions.

They underestimated Haymitch. That was a mistake.

Within a few moments the fray had begun, and, with a burst of speed, Haymitch had kicked the first of them in the stomach and slit his attacker's throat. The others weren't so easily floored, Haymitch had just taken them off guard.

He ducked the knife that flew at his head but failed to avoid a vicious punch to the jaw, flooring him. His own knife skittered from his hand and he landed nearly on top of the twitching boy who lay with blood gushing from his throat and only a moment from death.

Before he could scramble to his feet, one of the Careers was on top of him, hands clasped around Haymitch's throat, and a feral grin on his rat like face. He couldn't….he was too strong…Haymitch's vision was clouding, his eyes rolling back, hands scratching madly at the other boy's. With a strangled growl he managed to focus enough to bring one of his hands up to push at his attacker's face, scratching, clawing, anything to distract him. It worked and Haymitch managed to sink his teeth into the Career's hand, forcing him to let go with a shout and giving the smaller Tribute time to pull free.

The upperhand was gained and lost, by each in turn, until finally, with a good deal of effort, trickles of blood running down his neck, Haymitch turned the knife away from his throat, wrenching it back and wasting no time in thrusting it into the other boy's chest and twisting.

The third had grabbed a branch, wielding it like a sword as Haymitch ran at him. The wood swung up, and Haymitch went down, his nose bleeding and bruises already swelling up over his face. The knife fell from his fingers and the Career snatched it up, grabbed Haymitch by the hair and tugging his head back, ready to drag the blade smoothly across.

The pain didn't come, the darkness never took his vision. He felt new trails of blood down his throat and then heard a strangled gasp and the knife was gone from his neck, his attacker lay slumped and dead on the ground, a dart in his neck.

xxxXxxx

Maysilee had saved his life. They were the only two left from District Twelve, and two of the nine Tributes left in the Game. For the coming days they formed an alliance, and it saved both of their lives. The food from the Careers' packs gave them both a decent amount to survive on, apples and bread mostly, which was ironically still more than Haymitch ate back home.

More than once he wondered what his family were thinking of him, the scares he must have given them, so close to death…killing other people without a second thought. He was certain that Aiden would never look at him the same way again.

The nights were more bearable with two of them, there was only one blanket in a bag but they got more sleep, one on watch all the time. It was a sort of unspoken pact…almost but not quite a friendship, and certainly nothing romantic. He just hoped Sienna wouldn't think it was. It would be easy to misinterpret himself and Maysilee. Covering her when she was cold, making sure she had at least the same amount he ate, if there was a little extra, she would have it.

God…he wanted to go home…

"We need to stay in one place, defend it, Haymitch. Maybe outlast them…"

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself and kept walking. She said that every day and he didn't intend to stop until he reached the edge. Outlasting the rest wouldn't do much…that would be worse. It meant one of them would have to kill the other one.

Another Tribute had fallen at their hands, a knife in the gut from Haymitch and a poison dart to put the boy out of his misery from Maysilee. Now there were just six of them left, out of the initial forty-eight.

Eventually, they did reach the edge. A rocky cliff beyond the forest, it was the end of the arena, or it looked like it was, Haymitch was almost certain there was more. Maysilee seemed to think the opposite as they stood together, looking over the edge of the cliff.

_"That's all there is, Haymitch." He could feel her eyes on him, not shifting his own from the cliff_ "Let's go back now."

He wasn't going, he was staying, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something…something that he was determined to work out.

"No. I'm staying here."

"All right. There's only five of us left. May as well say good-bye now, anyway, I don't want it to come down to you and me."

That was it, there was nothing else, Haymitch didn't even look back at her once. Just nodded more to himself than to her. "Okay." And Maysilee was gone.

Perhaps it was a bad idea, but it was a good thing. Better the alliance be broken now than if it came down to Haymitch and Maysilee, he would have too hard a time killing her then and would probably have resorted to running, or letting her kill him. But no use in thinking that, it wouldn't happen, one of them was bound to die first.

Haymitch must have stood there for at least fifteen minutes, just staring off the cliff, quick eyes studying, searching…for anything. But there was nothing, he must have been wrong, it was a long shot.  
In frustration he dislodged a rock the size of his fist with his foot and kicked it over the edge, he would leave now, find some shelter.

A clatter….he turned back, the rock was there. All but actually smirking at him. The forcefield….did it really just…try it again.

This time he picked it up, studying the rock, no chips, perfectly as it had been a moment ago. Every curious bone in the Tribute's body screamed at him to throw the rock, and Haymitch obliged. Much to his satisfaction it rebounded, springing right back into his open palm. Yes….he could use this. This was good.

The smile that stretched over his scratched and dirt covered features made Haymitch think he may be a little too pleased about this. Even so, he couldn't help the thoughts, strategies that raced through his mind. The various ways he could use this new information to his advantage, not all of them were pleasant thoughts and all of them involved blood.

A scream tore him from his thoughts, a girl, and there were only two left…Maysilee…

xxxXxxx

It was.

Haymitch's heart raced painfully in his chest, panic rising with every second. She was lying in the middle of the clearing, the evident blood visible from fifty yards. Birds…carnivorous birds, with needle like beaks, had flocked around her, fleeing the murder as Haymitch ran to her.

Her long blonde hair was red with her blood, which ran freely from the many punctures in her neck the birds had caused, there was no doubt that she would have been ripped to pieces if Haymitch hadn't come at that moment.

No….no….he knew one of them would have to die but to see her dying at his feet, with nothing he could do. Maysilee couldn't even talk, her mouth opened, a bloody foam leaking out with a sick gurgle. Grey eyes met grey, the light fading from the girl's, ever pleading, pleading with Haymitch to stop it.

"No…" He couldn't save her, the wounds would undoubtedly be fatal and the blood loss was immense. All the boy could do was grasp her hand firmly in his own, staying by her side, telling her not to try to talk, and wait for the inevitable. Mercifully…it wasn't long, her suffering stopped. The twitches down her now limp body ceased, and her eyes stared lifelessly at the sky.

It shouldn't have cut Haymitch so deep. He felt completely responsible. He should have stayed with her, could have fought off the birds. And now Maysilee lay dead in front of him. His head dropped, his left hand lifting to drag down her eyelids. There, now she looked like she were only sleeping. And the cannon boomed.

Four left.

xxxXxxx

Two left. The last two boys aside from Haymitch had killed each other, Haymitch had watched from the safety of a bush, his face dark with dirt as the two knives sunk into chest and throat respectively. They were both dead in a matter of moments.

Now it was only Haymitch and one of the Career girls left. Left to vie for the title of Victor, left to fight to go home. Left facing each other across the meadow Maysilee had died in. A knife in his hand, an axe in hers. Both pairs of eyes bore the same vicious, determined glint, and hers held a touch of glee. Sick, sadistic, glee.

For several moments neither moved, and Haymitch's thoughts flickered back to District 12, to his mother, his brother, his girlfriend…the blacksmith. He could see his mother's eyes now, her face, her hands would be clinging desperately to her apron, or to Aiden's shoulders, waiting for the moment her son would breathe his last.  
No. She wouldn't see that moment, she would not have to watch Haymitch die, because he wasn't going to die. Forty eight Tributes, he had made it to the final two….he wouldn't stop there.

As one both Tributes sprinted forward, feet flying across the grass, the metal of the weapons flashing in the falling light. Knife met axe, he caught her fist. He was fast, she was smaller and faster, tripping him before he could see what was happening. Rolling, ducking, dodging, slashing, punching, stabbing, swinging. It was a constant onslaught from both parties. He caught her throat, she bit his hand. She made to scratch him and he elbowed her in the nose.

The first blood was drawn. For a moment they stumbled away, she wiping her nose and Haymitch catching his breath. They equalled each other in strength, and speed but she was more agile, eighteen years of training had paid off.

With a snarl not unlike that of a mountain lion, she leapt, landing on his back as he ducked and vaulting off, probably bruising his back. And just as the girl crouched, landing on the balls of her feet, Haymitch mimicked her movement, leaping forward, his knife raised, and a feral adrenaline racing in his blood.

The next thing he knew there was pain. A lot. Intense, agonising, ripping through his stomach. It took several moments for Haymitch to realise the scream that rang through his ears was his own, and that there was an axe buried in his abdomen, that the blood now drenching him was his own. And she was laughing. The sadistic Career was laughing, remarkably resembling a wild cat about to leap in for the kill.

And leap she did, Haymitch, doubled over, clutching the wound that spanned the width of his stomach, his knife lying in the grass a foot from him. As he looked up, dropping and madly grabbing for the weapon, the girl leapt, axe raised, coated with crimson for the final blow and he straightened, just for an instant, slashing madly at his attacker.

Another scream. Hers this time. More blood, hers. Something flew past his head and her blood sprayed Haymitch's face. The axe lay a ways away, forgotten as her hands clutched at her face, shrieking any number of profanities at him.

Haymitch ran, he knew what to do now….he would die if he waited any longer. The steady stream of blood pouring from his wound was only going to intensify, and already he felt light headed. The nausea and bile rising in his throat stemmed from the texture of what he was certain was his intestines or some other organ beneath his fingers.

She was faster, he could hear her running after him, shrieking like some terrible bird and crying for his blood. It was in sight now….Haymitch's head swam, his eyes watering and a low stream of groans and cries of pain slipped from his lips as he sprinted as best he could to the cliff. She may think he would jump…she may not. But she would think she had him cornered.

Haymitch knew exactly what the girl would do, and he turned at the edge of the cliff, exhausted and dizzy, dropping to his knees in apparent defeat. There was only one shot…if it didn't work, he would die for certain.

Blood was flowing from the girl's empty eye socket, coating half her face in a bright scarlet, sheer rage on her face as she hurled her weapon. If there was one thing she should not have done, she should not have thrown the axe. Haymitch fell, hitting the ground hard, and beginning to convulse as the axe flew over his head.

His vision was fading, blurring, and it was all Haymitch could do to keep conscious as the satisfying dull thud of the axe hitting the forcefield was heard. He turned the arena, into a weapon.

A scream, another thud and a cannon fire.

Haymitch had won.


End file.
